Stirring As If They Had Life
by MoreExperienceWithBanshees
Summary: "We read it every night. I was obsessed with it. For three months I wouldn't respond to anything but A R I E L." Perishable, Lydia's POV. Warnings inside.


So I just wanted to write a Lydia POV fic from Perishable since it gave me all sorts of feelings...

And then _this happened._

It is ungodly long.

Pairings: Stydia, mentions of Stalia, somewhat hints of Marrish.

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_Stirring As If They Had Life_

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Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf or The Little Mermaid

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Warnings: Spoilers through episode 4x09. Discussion of suicide and euthanasia. Mental torture. If you haven't seen the episode, you probably shouldn't read this

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"Your grandmother, Lorraine Martin, faked her death?" Sheriff Stilinski asked skeptically as he led Stiles and me into his office.

Stiles nodded. "Definitely."

"Maybe." I corrected.

"More than likely yes." Stiles amended.

The Sheriff folded his arms. "I'm guessing you have a story to back this up?"

"She might be helping The Benefactor." I admitted.

"Or is the Benefactor." Stiles added.

That made me frown slightly. I couldn't understand why Grandma would have helped create a hit-list of supernatural creatures, especially one that listed me as worth 20 million dollars dead. The thought of her being the one in charge of it all was ever more inconceivable. But stranger things had happened in this town.

"That sounds like a story worth hearing." The Sheriff told us, closing the door to his office, before turning back to me. "Go on. I'm listening."

"Well, it all started when we went to go see Meredith at Eichen House last week…" I began. Stiles made a muffled, abortive noise against the back of his hand and I stopped, shooting him a questioning look.

"Hang on." The Sheriff held up a hand. "I'm sorry, what? You went to see Meredith? At Eichen House?" He asked Stiles. "After I specifically – and I mean specifically – forbade you from going there?"

Stiles drummed his fingers against his arm anxiously. "Forbade is such a strong word – it felt kinda more like a suggestion at the time–"

The Sheriff rubbed his forehead "How did you even get in there? Please tell me you did not break in."

"No, of course not. We got Parrish to go with us." Stiles assured him. "See? Totally responsible, bringing a deputy along."

I winced as the Sheriff's expression darkened. It was one thing for the Sheriff to be angry with me for bringing to Stiles to Eichen House, but quite a different thing for him to be upset with Parrish. I was one of his son's best friends – Parrish was his subordinate. "It was right after we showed him the second third of the deadpool with his name on it and told him there was a price on his head for five million dollars." I admitted. "He was a little freaked out, please don't blame him for helping us."

The Sheriff rounded on Stiles. "What have I told you about manipulating my young, impressionable deputies?"

"Young, impress – he's seven years older than us Dad!"

"And you are far more conniving than any seventeen-year old has a right to be." The Sheriff retorted, his gaze flicking to me briefly so I knew he was including me in that. I didn't know whether to be offended or flattered. "Parrish, on the other hand…" He shook his head before going to the door and sticking his head out. "Anybody seen Parrish?" He called to the mostly empty station. "Haigh?"

"Haven't seen him." The only deputy in the main area called back.

The Sheriff shut the door again and turned back to us.

"We're all just trying to solve this, Dad. Don't get mad at Parrish." Stiles said. "In the grand scheme of things, one little unauthorized trip to Eichen House isn't a big deal. Especially not when there are assassins cutting people's heads off, infecting entire classrooms with supernatural viruses and stabbing people with knives hidden in lacrosse sticks."

"Fine. But you are not going back there. I forbid it. Do you hear that word? Forbid. Lydia, you're a witness. Do you need that in writing?" He asked wryly.

"No, I think I got it." Stiles responded in the same tone. "Anyway, when we went to see Meredith she told us she knew who The Benefactor was and the way she talked it sounded like he was using her somehow."

"And then when Scott faked his death the other day to try and catch The Benefactor, whoever it was didn't have to go to the hospital to know he wasn't dead." I added. "Meaning either The Benefactor is a banshee, or has a banshee working for him."

"That makes sense," The Sheriff commented, then shook his head. "And the sad thing is I actually mean that. I completely understood all of the nonsense you both just uttered."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I did what I always do when Stiles makes an irrelevant comment, and just ignored it. "So this past weekend when I was up at my grandmother's lakehouse I found a picture of Meredith in Meredith's possessions that I claimed from Eichen House. I realized the picture was taken at the lakehouse and when I asked my mom about it she said-"

The sound of gunshots drowned out the rest of my words.

Our heads whipped around to the window separating the Sheriff's office from the main area of the station. Through the blinds I could barely see Haigh struggling with a dark figure.

"Get down!" The Sheriff hissed at us, pulling out his gun and moving toward the door. I ducked so that I was no longer in-line with the window, as the Sheriff opened the door, shouting, "Hey!" at Haigh and his assailant. Stiles yanked me away from the door and when more gunshots rang out he pulled my head down, covering it with his own head and arms. There was shouting, a grunt of pain nearby and then the sound of someone being hit repeatedly.

Stiles made a small noise in the back of his throat and released me, rushing to where his dad was crouching by the door, hand clutching at his shoulder. I shakily edged toward the door until I could peek past the Sheriff and catch a glimpse of a strange naked man covered in dirt straddling Haigh and hitting him in the face. A gun was lying several feet away.

"Parrish!" The Sheriff called out, voice strained. "Parrish, calm down!"

The naked man's face whipped over to us and I gasped when I realized it was Parrish, though it was nearly impossible to tell through all that dirt. "He tried to kill me!" Parrish yelled, the whites of his eyes shining madly in the darkness. "He tried to burn me alive!"

He hit Haigh again.

"He's unconscious." Stiles called, sounding shaken. "Quit beating his brains in, we're gonna need answers from him when he wakes up. Now calm down and tell us what the hell happened."

Parrish stood up, looking down at himself. "I – I don't know what happened. I woke up zip-tied to my steering wheel. He covered me and my squad car in gasoline. He…he knew about the list, said I was worth five million dead–"

"Haigh is an assassin?" The Sheriff wheezed.

"I always thought he was a dick." Muttered Stiles.

"I should be dead!" Parrish exclaimed. "He burned me alive, I was on fire, but I'm not dead – how am I not dead?"

The Sheriff and Stiles looked at each other, then back at me. We'd all assumed Parrish was supernatural in some way, since he was on the list, but we hadn't been certain. Until now.

"Take him to Derek." Stiles suggested to me, squeezing his dad's arm. "He might have some idea about what's happening. I've gotta take my dad to the hospital."

"Stiles, it's fine. Go with them. I can take my-"

"Dad, you have a bullet lodged in your shoulder." Stiles snapped at him. "I'm taking you to the hospital. Lydia, Cuevero's in the evidence room, tell him to come take care of Haigh. Parrish, get out of sight, put some clothes out and go wait in the parking lot. I'm gonna call Scott, see if he can meet you guys there."

"Yes sir." The Sheriff joked weakly.

We got Haigh sorted out and when I came outside Parrish was leaning against a department SUV, looking odd (but still extraordinarily attractive, obviously) in civilian clothes. "So where are we going?" He asked.

"You'll see." I slipped into the passenger side. After a few moments hesitation, Parrish got in and started the car. "Turn left out of the parking lot."

The drive passed silently except for my directions. Parrish's grip on his steering wheel was so tight his knuckles were literally white. I was pretty sure he was in shock.

We pulled into the lot for Derek's building and Parrish peered up at it. "What is this place?"

"An apartment building." I said blithely. "Derek Hale's apartment building, specifically."

Parrish's eyebrows furrowed. "Derek Hale? The guy who was arrested for the Katashi murder a few months ago? Whose fingerprints weirdly matched a kid that was caught wandering around the Hale house ruins the other week."

"That's the one." I confirmed, unbuckling. "Derek knows lots of things. He should be able to figure out how you survived that fire. What exactly happened to you." What you are

"Sorry, but I have no idea." Derek declared once he was done checking Parrish over.

"But you knew about Jackson and Kira," Scott, who had been waiting at the loft when Parrish and I arrived, insisted from Derek's other side.

Derek raised his eyebrows at him. "This is a little out of my experience. There might be something in the Bestiary – did you try Argent?"

"I don't know where he is."

"Okay, hold on." Parrish interrupted. "What's a Bestiary?" He shook his head. "Actually, that's not even my first question. Just…just tell me one thing. Are all of you like Lydia?" Scott and Derek cocked their heads questioningly. "Are all of you psychic?"

A rare, genuinely amused expression crossed Derek's face. "Psychic?" He asked in disbelief.

"Yeah," Parrish insisted earnestly.

Scott sighed. "Not exactly."

"Okay. Then what are you?"

Derek and Scott looked at each other and Derek nodded pointedly. Scott closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were glowing red.

Parrish took an automatic step back. "What–" He gasped. "What is this…what are…"

"Werewolf." Scott told him. "I'm a werewolf and so is Derek."

"This is…" Parrish breathed. "This is unbelievable…I'm dreaming, or – or – or dead. Yeah, I must be dead–"

"You're not." Derek said bluntly. "Which means you're some kind of supernatural creature. But not a werewolf. We can heal from lots of things, but there are limits to our abilities. We can't…we can't survive being burned alive like you did."

Scott winced slightly at that. "There are a lot of supernatural creatures out there. That's who's on the list. We've suspected you were a supernatural ever since we saw your name on the deadpool."

"A werewolf." Parrish repeated, looking dazed. "An actual werewolf. Like, you can turn into a wolf?"

"No," Scott shook his head. "Not an actual wolf. My eyes just glow and I grow fangs and claws and sprout hair on my face–"

"And you get super ugly." I teased.

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly at me. "And that. And I have super-strength and reflexes and senses."

Parrish nodded uncertainly. "Can you show me? I just, I saw your eyes glowing but it might have just been a trick of the light–" Scott's face began to change and Parrish stumbled backward until he hit Derek's couch. "Okay." He said in a stunned sort of voice as he sank down to sit on the couch. "Werewolves." He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess…I feel like I should be more surprised but…weird things have been happening in this town. Like those ninjas who attacked the station in those masks…"

"The Oni," Scott supplied, shifting back. "They were demons."

Parrish looked up at him. "Bullets didn't affect them at all," he whispered. "They just went straight through."

"Only silver works on them." I told him, swallowing as I thought about Allison and how she figured that out just before her death. "Only silver, and it has to stay lodged in them."

"Like an arrow." Scott added, giving me a sad smile, and a moment of shared grief passed between us. We had a lot of those moments, Scott and I, though they grew less frequent as more time passed.

"The Oni were just one kind of supernatural creature." Derek mercifully changed the subject. "There other things, like Wendigos, which are cannibals, Kitsune, which are fox spirits–"

"What's Lydia?" Parrish asked, looking at me.

"A banshee." I replied. "I predict death. And find dead bodies. So you were close with your whole 'psychic' guess."

"So what am I? I mean, there are only so many different possibilities, right?"

"There are literally dozens." Scott said wearily. "Possibly more. Most we don't know about. The ones we know are werewolves, banshees, wendingos, the Oni, the Kanima, the Nogitsune – oh god, you don't think he's a nogitsune do you?" He asked Derek in alarm, taking a few steps back from Parrish.

Derek shook his head. "No, nogitsune have the same kind of healing abilities that kitsune do, which in turn are the same as werewolves. So if Parrish were possessed by one, he might still be able to walk around, but all of his skin would be burned off. It would be a pretty gruesome sight."

"What's a Kanima?" Parrish queried.

Scott hesitated. "We'll get back to that." He decided, evidently not wanting to explain the complicated logistics of Jackson's brief homicidal existential crisis. "Just know that everyone like us, everyone with some kind of supernatural ability is on the deadpool."

"But I don't even know what I am!" Protested Parrish.

"I'm pretty sure they don't care." Derek said dryly.

Parrish sighed. "How many professional assassins are we talking about?"

"We're starting to lose count." I admitted, pacing in front of the couch.

"But is it still just professionals?" Scott wondered aloud.

With a heavy sigh, Parrish shook his head. "I don't think Haigh's ever tried anything like this. I think he was taking a chance."

"That means anyone with a dead pool could take a chance." Derek surmised.

"But if Haigh had it, then who else does?" Parrish looked between the three of us. "How easy is it to get this thing now?"

Derek shrugged. "We don't even know how anyone gets the dead pool in the first place. The only way we were able to get it was through Lydia, and I doubt every assassin has their own personal banshee to type out the code."

"No, but we think The Benefactor does." Scott informed him. "So he could be using the banshee to send the list to whoever he wants."

"The Benefactor has his own personal banshee?" Derek questioned. "Who is it?"

Scott shot me a significant look and I crossed the room to settle on the edge of Derek's bed. "I believe it's story time." I said as lightly as I could. "Do you have any popcorn, Derek?"

There's a bit of a joke that divorces run in the Martin family. Both my dad and his brother got divorced. Uncle Kevin's divorce was reasonably clean, since they'd only been married for a little over a year and there were no kids – everyone just chalks up the whole marriage as a mistake and I don't even remember his ex-wife's name.

My parents' was obviously far messier since I was involved, and it was just uglier in general. They had a poisonous relationship – my mom came from a family with a lot of money and we relied far more on her inheritance than my dad's job, and she was far smarter than him. When I was young I thought it was my mom's fault since she was always belittling my dad and correcting him. As I got older, I started blaming my dad more instead, since it was his insecurities about his own intelligence that caused all the real problems.

At any rate, it was so messy that my dad insisted I pick one of them to live with permanently so that they didn't have to see each other when they were trading me off. Out of spite I picked my mom though I probably could have gotten away with far more if I were living with my dad, and he was closer to Jackson, who I'd just started dating. But I was pissed at him for making me choose. It was my attack at the winter formal last year that finally forced them together again, uniting to force me into therapy and monitor my movements. Now, three years after my dad first filed for a divorce, things were finally somewhat amicable between them.

My grandmother's divorce was completely amicable. She and my grandfather got along wonderfully. Loved each other, even. But he wasn't her great love. No, her great love was a woman named Maddy, whom she met when my dad was five.

I've always associated Maddy with boats in my mind, mostly because I learned about her through all the plaques and trophies in the lakehouse from the regattas she'd won. Apparently she used to be part of a yacht racing team. Her picture was all over the lakehouse too, though it took me awhile to piece the two together. Grandma always shone a little brighter in the pictures with Maddy. She was her world for the short time they were together.

One weekend, my grandmother was at the IBM office in San Fransisco, catching up on work. And she started hearing this sound. Like rain. But when she looked out the windows, all she could see was blue sky. She kept hearing the rain, though. And it just kept getting louder. Rain. And thunder. Cracking like gunshots in her head. So loud.

She finally just screamed.

And something inside of her told her that something terrible was about to happen to Maddy. So she called Maddy, who was planning on taking one of the boats out on the lake. But Maddy said that the sun was shining there too. So my grandmother didn't say anything.

There was a freak storm that day. It took them four days to find Maddy's body. And then it took decades to find out how my grandmother knew. She started with parapsychologists – like the PhD in their name made it more scientific. They built the study in the lake house according to every pseudoscientific theory they could find. None of it worked.

So then she started going to more extreme occult things like mediums and psychics. All of them were failures. Until they found Meredith.

They found her in Eichen House: this fragile girl who didn't understand the things she heard. They brought her to the study – and they almost killed her. She was hospitalized for over a year. She…never really recovered.

My grandmother drove Meredith Walker insane. And then eight years later, in my relentless pushing to make her reveal the secrets she knew about The Benefactor, I drove her to suicide. Together, my grandmother and I completely destroyed her. And all she ever tried to do was help both of us.

"My grandmother created the code for the dead pool." I told the now silent loft. "We think she's the banshee who put the names out in the first place." I laid the code down on the table we were all standing around "She left me this message in the same code."

"But she didn't leave a cipher key, did she?" Scott guessed quietly.

I shook my hide, biting my lip and looking away. "No." I replied finally. "And I honestly have no clue what it could be. I haven't been hearing anything and all my attempts at automatic writing and typing or whatever have yielded nothing." And there are no other mentally unstable banshees I can interrogate to the point of suicide.

"Did your grandmother even know that you would be a banshee, though?" Derek mused, tapping two fingers against his mouth. "You didn't show any signs of it until Peter's bite triggered it, right?"

"Unless you count the screaming tantrums I used to throw, no I did not." My eyes fixated on Beacon Hills' skyline through the large window. "I'm not even sure my grandmother knew she was a banshee. But it's not like I'd know if she did. My father thought she was insane." I said flatly. "By the time she met Meredith, he barely spoke with her. My mother was actually closer to her, Grandma thought of her as the daughter she never had, but she thought my grandmother was crazy as well. So if she ever found out about the supernatural and what she was, there would be no way to know, because she wouldn't have told either of them."

Scott leaned forward against the table. "I think Derek's point is that your grandmother probably wouldn't have expected you to use your banshee abilities to figure out the code." He suggested. "Since she didn't know about them. So you should be able to figure it out a different way. With your brain." He nodded at me. "Because that was a talent she did know about, right?"

"Of course. She went to all my spelling bees and MathCounts competitions." I hadn't started pretending to be stupid until I was well into middle school, by which point Grandma was already hospital.

"You did MathCounts?" Derek didn't even try to hide his amusement.

I jutted my chin out. "Is that a problem?"

Derek shook his head, still smirking. "No, not at all. I'm just suddenly seeing you in a whole new light, that's all."

"At any rate," Scott cut in. "I'm pretty sure this is going to have to be something you need to use logic and reason to find."

"Hmm." I pursed my lips. "You could be right. So I guess I'll have to put my detective hat on…and I'll call Stiles. If he's finished taking care of his dad, maybe he can brainstorm some things with me."

Scott nodded. "Good idea. With both of you working on this, I'm sure you'll find the cipher key in no time. I have total faith in your skills."

"Try Maddy. It's got to be Maddy."

I sighed, resisting the urge to slam my forehead against the keyboard. I was at Stiles's house until two this morning, picking apart and reassembling his conspiracy board trying to figure out any possible connections to my grandmother, until my mother called screaming where the hell are you it's a school night damnit into the phone. So Stiles drove me home and I attempted to sleep for the next few hours, laying awake in bed until my alarm went off. Then I got ready, pretended to leave for school early, and drove back to Stiles's house.

And that was where I still was, sitting in the exact same chair I'd been sitting in for hours, staring at the exact same string of code I'd been staring at for hours.

"Doesn't Maddy feel a little obvious as a cipher key?" I asked, voice hoarse from my complete lack of sleep. Stiles apparently hadn't gotten any sleep either, but he was pacing back and forth between his desk and the wall. I had no idea how he was moving at all and it was frankly driving me nuts.

"I guarantee it's Maddy."

I guarantee it's not, I thought grumpily, typing the letters in as instructed. It was the fourth time he'd suggested it so mostly I just did it to shut him up.

Error.

"Okay, your name. She left the code for you, right? So it's gotta be your name."

Error.

"Your mom's name?"

Error again.

"Do you have any beloved family pets?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and groaned.

"What?" Stiles asked defensively. "It's a legit suggestion!"

"This is not a Facebook password!" I snapped. "This is the last message my grandmother left me, it's going to be something nobody else can guess!" After a few seconds of staring at the screen, I caved and typed in PRADA.

Error.

"Happy?" I looked over my shoulder at Stiles, noticing the flashing light of the printer. It had been beeping all morning and at this point I had completely drowned out the sound.

"No." He leaned back against the wall and hit his had against it. "This is the only lead we have, the only clue to figuring out who is behind this and stopping this all…and we can't crack it! It's so frustrating."

"You think you're frustrated?" I asked in disbelief. "I'm the one who's supposed to solve this, this is my job and here I am, failing…" yet again.

"It's my job too." Stiles glanced at me. "I'm the one who figures it out, remember? That is literally my only purpose in the pack." Involuntarily my cheeks warmed at his echoing of the pep talk I gave him once, and I turned back to my laptop. Malia. Remember Malia, Lydia. Even if they were in some kind of fight I didn't fully understand, they were still together. And Lydia Martin did not pine after boys with girlfriends. Especially when I was friends with said girlfriend.

I groaned again. "I'm the one with the IQ of 174. But hacking isn't exactly my strong suit."

"Mine either. Why did Danny have to be in Hawaii when all of this is happening? What could possibly be so important that he had to leave for a month?"

"His uncle is dying of cancer."

Stiles winced. "Oh. Did not know that. Still, he didn't have to go completely off the grid. He could at least check his email once in a blue moon. I bet he could've figured this out in minutes."

"Maybe," I conceded. "But maybe not. My grandmother retired a long time ago, computer codes have changed a lot. Anyway, he's out of reach so it's pointless to speculate." I just barely stopped myself in time from chewing on my nails, a bad habit I forced myself to break years ago. "It's got to be something we're overlooking. Not too obvious, but not impossible…"

"Well, what do you suggest, Scully?"

I glanced back at him, momentarily distracted. "Scully?"

"X-files reference." At my blank look, Stiles's eyes widened. "You've never heard of the X-files? Oh my god, I swear, you and Scott…I don't know what kind of upbringing you guys had, but you were both seriously deprived. It's a TV show."

"I've never been a big TV fan." I admitted. Anytime I sat down to watch a show, I found myself wincing at how bad the writing was, how cheesy the dialogue was, and then inevitably turning it off and picking up a book instead.

"Well, X-files is one of the greatest shows of all time." Stiles enthused. "And you are absolutely Scully. The witty, heroic, badass genius…"

Now I was legitimately blushing. No. Stop it brain. Focus on the task at hand.

"…who shoots down all her partner's ideas and generally just brings everyone's spirits down with her skepticism, snarkiness and negativity."

"Can she predict death and danger?" I asked serenely, focusing my attention on him.

Stiles looked perplexed. "Uh, no. That's where there parallels end, I guess."

"I see. Well, I'm currently having a prediction right now." I informed him. "It involves me hitting you violently with something heavy if you continue being this annoying."

He gaped at me for a second, before closing his mouth with an audible noise. "Okay, then let's try to figure this out before that happens."

The computer code was burned into my retinas now, I was sure of it. Stiles was slumped next to me, forehead pressed against the desk, fingers drumming incessantly. "The ashes…" He said for the millionth time "…were left for you. The code…was left for you. You're supposed to be able to figure this out."

"But no one else is." I murmured. "Which is why she made it hard.

Stiles nodded as the printer continued to beep in the background. At this point I found it almost soothing, but he apparently did not because he finally snapped and pushed himself off the desk. I half-listened to his struggle with the printer in the background, the letters swimming before my eyes.

"…no one else but you."

His voice broke through my sleep-deprived haze. "What?"

"Our guesses," Stiles said in a low, excited voice that I recognized. It was his 'holy shit I am a genius' voice. "They're all about Lorraine, right? We keep trying to guess a word that has something to do with her. So maybe we should be trying to guess one to do with you."

"Me?" I frowned in confusion. "What about me?"

"What do you remember doing with your grandmother?" He prompted. "You know, what was you guys', like, special thing? Did you go to the beach? You know, did you like ice cream or–"

"We read." I remembered aloud. There were a few months back when I was in second grade that my grandmother came to stay with us – I now realized it was because she must have been having some sort of 'psychotic break' and couldn't be trusted to live alone. At the time I loved it, because she tucked me into bed every night and read me a story.

"Okay. What did you read?"

I shrugged. "The Little Mermaid." I admitted, slightly embarrassed, though there was no reason to be. It was just Stiles. But it was also Stiles – no brain, no.

"You read that movie?" He asked in disbelief.

"It was a book first." I retorted, in a tone I hope adequately conveyed how idiotic I found that question. His face was still blank and somewhat stunned, like everything he'd ever known about the universe was a lie. "Hans Christian Andersen?" I prompted.

He gestured toward the laptop. "Type it in. 'Little Mermaid.'"

I typed it in as one word, since the password box wouldn't allow for two word passwords. Error. I tried MERMAID. Error.

I frowned at the screen, puzzled. It had really seemed like we were on to something there. "We read it every night," I mused, remembering. "I got so obsessed with it, for three months I wouldn't respond to anything but Ariel." My parents would call my name and I would pretend I had no idea what they were talking about until they called me Ariel. I would literally just not look at them and stay silent until they used that name. God I was such a brat. "It just my parents crazy…" They'd definitely coddled me as a child and let me get away with more than I should have, but the Ariel thing was something they'd stopped indulging after a few days and I got a lot of timeouts over it. The only one who thought it was cute was of course Grandma who…

My lips parted in realization and I put my fingers back on the keys. "But Grandma thought it was adorable." I typed out ARIEL and his enter.

The sound of a computer code being decrypted is possibly the best sound in the whole world. Stiles leaned over my shoulder and we watched as ten names appeared on the screen.

"You recognize any of these?"

I ran a finger down the list. "Just my grandmother…" The list looked slightly different from the dead pool list, since there were only names, no numbers next to them. So this probably wasn't a hit list then.

"Lydia?" I swiveled the chair around to see that Stiles was standing by the printer. For some reason the printer was printing out sheet after sheet, which kept sliding onto the floor. He held up a sheet and I peered at it, eyes widening when I recognized it as a third of the deadpool list. "We need to call Scott."

"What is this?" I stood up from the chair for the first time in hours, and bent down to grab another sheet. It was the last third, the one with Malia and Liam's names on it. There were black lines through some of them, including Meredith's. "All of the ones who are dead are crossed off." I frowned, squinting at the number next to Liam's name. "How much was Liam supposed to be worth?"

Stiles looked up from his phone as it rang. "Not sure. Why?"

I showed him the sheet. "Because I'm pretty sure he wasn't worth eighteen million before."

His eyes bugged out and he grabbed it. "No, the little runt definitely was not. Here, look at this one." He shoved the list he'd been holding at me. "Derek's name isn't on there anymore."

My stomach dropped. "It's crossed out?"

"No, it's literally just gone – hey, Scott." He spoke into the phone. "We just cracked Lorraine's code, but we've got a problem over here. The printer just went crazy and…yeah, how'd you know?"

I could just barely make out the sound of Scott's grainy phone-voice. "Put him on speaker."

Stiles did as instructed as Scott was saying, "…and he couldn't turn it off, it just kept printing until he unplugged it. And then when he was showing me the updated list at school, we heard Coach yelling about something in his office, and we ran in to see his printer was spitting out dozens of copies of the list. All of them with the dead supernaturals crossed off, Liam's price updated, and Derek gone."

"Why is Derek gone?" I asked frantically. "Did you call him? Is he okay?"

"He's fine…" Scott sighed over the phone. "It's because of what Kate did to him, you noticed he's been losing his senses right?"

Stiles and I nodded at each other. "Yeah, we did." Stiles answered aloud.

"It's like he's losing all of his werewolf power, becoming human." Scott informed us. "So I think the reason he's not on the list is because…he's not supernatural anymore."

"But how do we know whatever is happening to him will stop with just his powers?" I questioned. "What if it just keeps making him weaker until it eventually kills him? There's a reason Derek's name was the third cipher key, Scott. He's going to be in danger, or…or…" I couldn't finish, feeling sick. If we were right, and me typing out Derek's name was a prediction, then Derek was going to die.

"I know." Scott said grimly. "Anyway, I think that's why Liam's price went up. All of Derek's allotted money went toward him. Nobody else's changed that I noticed."

I glanced down at the list Stiles had given me. LYDIA MARTIN 20. Still damningly the same, still the second-highest on the list. Though Liam was a very close third now, apparently.

"So, are we thinking this is how people are getting the list?" Stiles asked. "It literally just comes out of their printer?"

"It would explain Haigh." I agreed. "But either the earlier assassins were getting the list some other way or it was more selective, because I think we would've heard about random printers going haywire before this. Do we think it's every printer?"

"Liam and I have been going to different offices and classrooms, we're heading to the computer lab right now." Scott told us. "So far Coach's was the only one. But still that's…that feels random, right? No one would expect Coach to possibly assassinate anyone on that list. Not to mention Stiles and Liam's. If The Benefactor is as all-knowing as he seems to be, he'd definitely know Stiles is on our side. And Liam's on the list!"

I steepled my fingers together in thought. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean he can't kill anyone else on the list," I pointed out. "And Stiles might be on our side, but there are supernaturals on that list we don't even know. What's to stop him from deciding to off a stranger for a million dollars?

"Um, moral integrity?" Stiles looked affronted. "Not to mention a deeply ingrained survival instinct and a year's worth of experience in the supernatural world that has taught me to run away from supernatural creatures, not toward them."

"The point," I continued, rolling my eyes, "is that it is feasible that both of you could kill someone on that list. Coach too. Likely? No. But there is the tinniest remote chance that it could happen…Coach, Liam, Stiles. Three's a pattern. What is it?"

"Lacrosse?" Scott suggested doubtfully.

Stiles shook his head, chewing on his thumbnail. "No, that can't be…what about connections to the supernatural world? The list is pointless unless you know about the supernatural, right? Cuz I'm willing to wager a guess Coach was confused as eff and had no idea what was going on."

"He was." Scott replied promptly. "Which means that can't be the pattern, because obviously Coach is still clueless."

"Right, but what if The Benefactor thinks he isn't?" Stiles suggested. "Think about it, Scott. He's been right in the middle of it since you were bitten. Half of the team seems to have some kind of supernatural ability at any given point. I sh – the Nogitsune shot him with an arrow last semester. And he helped us with Meredith when she escaped to the school. He even tased Brunski. Anyone paying attention would think he had to be suspicious about what was happening…probably because they don't realize he's a high-functioning moron."

"I'm pretty sure Coach knows something's going on," I chipped in. "But I think he doesn't want to know, so he just turns a blind eye to it and goes on with his life."

Stiles nodded at me. "Exactly. So someone might assume he knows about the supernatural, that he figured it out like Danny did. Because they don't realize Coach lives in his own magical little world that completely revolves around lacrosse."

"It would fit with Lydia's theory." Scott agreed.

"So knowing all of this," I rubbed my thumbs against each other in little circles. "We can hypothesize that the recipient list of the dead pool has expanded from whatever it was before to all people with any possible connection to the supernatural." A thought occurred to me and I exhaled heavily. "What if this is a new stage? The professional assassins weren't quite cutting it – pun not intended – so The Benefactor started a new round, complete with an updated list, and far more potential assassins being sent the list."

Scott sighed audibly. "That makes sense," he admitted reluctantly. "And while some of them aren't a threat, like Coach–"

"-the ones like Haigh obviously are." Stiles finished.

A deafening silence filled the room as we all contemplated exactly what that meant. The Benefactor had upped the ante as it were (though technically Liam's was the only ante to be upped), and we were now facing threats from every direction. I was struck by a sudden desire to barricade myself in my house and never come out again. Actually, I didn't even want to get in my car. For all I knew, someone could have rigged it to explode when I turned the ignition. When you're worth twenty million dollars dead, that suddenly becomes a legitimate possibility.

"Listen guys, I've gotta go." Scott finally spoke up. "I gotta catch up with Liam and check out the rest of the rooms, see if there are anymore haywire printers. I'll see you tonight at the bonfire though, okay?"

"Bonfire?" Stiles and I asked in unison. The start-of-season lacrosse bonfire? That was tonight?

"Yeah, the lacrosse bonfire, remember?" Scott confirmed my guess. "Don't tell me you guys forgot."

"We've been typing random words into a computer, staring at code all day, Scott." Stiles deadpanned. "Of course we forgot. Are you seriously going to that? That dead pool list is probably being delivered to a new potential assassin every minute. And you want to go to a rager surrounded with drunks and stoners, around a massive, raging fire, literally less than twenty-four hours after someone attempted to burn Parrish alive. As your self-appointed voice of reason, I'm officially vetoing this plan."

"I don't have a choice." Scott said in a resigned sort of voice. "Captain, remember? Coach is requiring me to go to keep everyone in line. Actually, everyone is required to go. Team bonding."

"Sadly I am home sick with a stomach virus of apocalyptic proportions, so I'll just have to make the friendship-braiding and trust-fall session next week. We're going to keep working on this list," Stiles added, voice turning serious again, before glancing at me. "Well, I'm going to keep working on it, obviously you can go if you want to."

I made a face. The lacrosse bonfire had been a very important social event for me my freshman and sophomore years. My memories of both nights were rather blurry, but they seemed to mostly consist of stumbling around in heels trying to keep my balance, drinking disgustingly flat spiked coke, and watching Jackson get flat-out wasted and hit on my pre-Allison best friend. "Yeah, I'll pass. Stiles is right, it sounds like a disaster waiting to happen. I think you should try to get out of it, Scott."

"It's not even about Coach requiring me to be there," Scott admitted. "If something does happen, I'm the person most equipped to handle it. I have to go to make sure everyone stays safe."

"Just make sure you stay safe." Stiles responded. "And if anything happens, call us, okay?"

"Absolutely. I'll see you guys tomorrow, then." The line went dead and I stared at the phone, worrying my lip between my teeth. I just had a bad feeling about the bonfire in general, but I didn't know if it was my less-than-stellar memories of it or my logical brain assessing all the potential dangers of it.

Or if it was another type of feeling all together.

"Well, it's not another dead pool." Parrish told us. We were at the station, huddled around his laptop, as he pulled up reports from the names we'd given him. "More like an already dead pool."

"All of them?" I asked, frowning. "All dead?"

"Within the last ten years." Parrish confirmed. "All suicides and all at the same place."

"Eichen House," Stiles read aloud from Elisha Chin's death report on the screen, sounding resigned. He glanced at me over Parrish's head. There was no way that was a coincidence.

Parrish slid his finger along the track pad. "I can print the reports and go over them, look for clues." He looked from side to side at both of us. "I can handle the rest from here, guys. You should probably head home."

I straightened up, furrowing my eyebrows at him. "Um, is that a joke?" My voice dropped to a hiss. "You know now that we're not just some kids poking into a murder investigation for fun. Laws about civilian involvement in cases don't really apply here."

"You're a good cop." Stiles added. "But you don't really know what you're up against yet. You don't even know what you are yet."

"And what are you?" Parrish asked him skeptically. "I don't recall Derek or Scott mentioning your name when they talked about all the people with supernatural abilities. And as far as I'm aware, Lydia, you don't have any means of defending yourself either."

"But we know things you don't." I insisted. "You'll be stumbling blind in this investigation without us, trust me."

Parrish shook his head. "Look, if I have questions I'll call you, okay? But I've already crossed too many professional lines allowing you two to help as much as you have. And Stiles, your dad called me before his surgery this morning, he doesn't want you involved with anything to do with Eichen House."

Stiles exhaled loudly. "Yeah, but it's a little late for that, right? Obviously Eichen House is involved with the dead pool somehow and I'm involved with the dead pool, so there's no point in any of that."

"No." Parrish insisted. "I'm putting my foot down. Go home. Or – there's a bonfire at the high school, right? Some security guards were in here talking about it earlier. Go to that. Take a night to be teenagers, for Christ's sake."

"But we–" I jabbed my heel into the toe of Stiles's converse, cutting him off and nodding at Parrish.

"You're right." I agreed sweetly. "Seriously, after everything, I just need a night off to get really, outrageously drunk."

"Great!" Parrish encouraged, then winced as I pulled Stiles away. "Wait, no. Don't get drunk. You're minors. I'm not condoning getting drunk!" He called after us as we left the main room of the station.

Once we were out of earshot, Stiles turned to me. "Ow." He complained.

"Oh, calm down, they were wedges, not stilettoes." I tugged him over to the abandoned front desk. "Obviously arguing with Parrish wasn't going to get us anywhere, so we're just going to have to investigate on our own."

He leaned over the counter. "Okay, but how? Parrish has the reports."

"Yeah, but someplace else not only has the suicide reports, but the full medical history of all the people on that list." I arched my eyebrows at him. "Eichen House."

"Lydia, Eichen House isn't a library. You need a warrant to get files from there." Stiles hissed back.

"My grandmother left me a list of ten suicides, including her own." I retorted. "There's got to be a reason why. Is there anyone there who's willing to help us?"

Stiles hesitated. "No, but there might be someone willing to take a bribe." He looked at me significantly.

My face dropped. "Not Brunski."

"He's the only one corrupt enough." Stiles insisted. "Morrell isn't there anymore, which means he's literally our only option."

"I can't stand him," I said with a scowl.

"Neither can I. Actually, I kind of loath him, but sadly he's our only hope. Now, do you want to do this or not?"

I bit my lip and glanced down at my purse where the list was. "Fine. Let's do it."

"I hate this place." Stiles shifted restlessly from foot to foot as we waited in the front lobby.

"I know." It's not like I was a big fan of it either, but I knew Stiles's feelings about it were bound to be a lot stronger than mine. I didn't know much about his stay here during his brief reprieve from possession. The little I knew was enough to make me want to reach out and grab his hand. The girlfriend, Lydia. Remember the girlfriend.

Brunski laughed when he saw us standing there. "Hello, teen detectives. And which emotionally unstable mental patient would you like to interrogate today?"

I flinched but managed to keep my head up.

"We wanted to talk to you, actually." Stiles brushed his arm against mine subtly and I leaned into him instinctively. "In private."

Brunski raised his eyebrows. "Oh really? Well, this should be interesting. Right this way."

He lead us to the very back of the facility to an office with bad 80s music playing. "Well, what can I do for you, Mr. Stilinski? Or are you here to finally hand over the money you owe?"

Stiles visibly bristled. "If I was, I wouldn't be handing it over to you, because you're not in charge of this place no matter what you might–"

"We need to have a look at some files." I interrupted, because arguing with and insulting Brunski wasn't going to incline him to help us. "And we know you have a key to the record room."

Brusnki shrugged. "Of course. I've got a key to everything…well, except the old basement." He shot Stiles a meaningful look. "But why should I help you two? I see you didn't bring your pet deputy with you this time."

"Yeah, we figured blackmail only works so many times before it gets ineffective." Stiles replied smoothly. "But bribery, that never gets old, does it?"

Brunski just sort of stared at him for a second before laughing again. "You're serious, aren't you? Typically these things go far more subtly."

"'Typically' implies that 'these things' have happened before, more than once, often in fact, which means you are admitting you have in fact been bribed before." Stiles pointed out somewhat nonsensically.

"We don't have time for subtlety." I informed Brunski bluntly. "Name your price."

He looked between us, smirk widening. "A thousand."

"A thousand dollars." Stiles repeated flatly. "To use one little key to open up one little file room? Are you out of your mind?"

"When you get the keys, you make the price." Brunski responded smugly.

"Right…" Stiles exhaled. "You actually think we have that kind of money?"

"I know you don't." Brunski practically sing-songed. "If you did, Daddy-Sheriff would have paid the bill by now." He shifted his gaze to me. "That's why I'm talking to her."

My skin prickled under his stare and I knew that look. It was the one that said he knew I was a princess and I desperately wanted to prove him wrong, that I wasn't a spoiled brat, but… "I have five hundred," I admitted, pulling out my wallet and all but flinging the money at him.

Brunsk grinned, taking a second to switch out the tapes in his cassette player, before sniffing the money. "Follow me," He told us, jangling his keys merrily and walking out of the office.

I lingered for a moment, staring at the cassette player. I was being idiotic. Lots of people still used cassette players. Not just The Benefactor for his little instructional tapes. Stiles glanced at me questioningly and I shook off the moment of weird almost deja-vuness.

We followed Brunski down the hall. "You know, you don't have to come with us." Stiles told him. "You could just give us the key and if we get caught you can just say we stole it.

"It may surprise you to hear this, Stiles," Brunski said cheerfully without turning to look at us, "But I don't actually trust you with any of my keys. How do I know you'll give it back? Nope, I'll be holding onto this little baby, thank you very much."

Finally we made it to the records room and Brunski let us in. "Good?" He asked as Stiles and I passed by him to go in.

"Yeah, we can help ourselves." Stiles unsubtly suggested and thankfully Brunski listened, heading back towards the door. A few seconds later I heard it shut. "Uh, Lydia, you got the list?"

I nodded, pulling out the folded piece of paper and handing it to him. I walked over to the other side of the room, wondering where to start.

"Lydia." Stiles said lowly. "Why did you write another name on here?"

I turned to him with a frown. "I didn't write anything."

"This is your handwriting."

Something about his voice scared me and I swallowed heavily. "Why would I write another name?" I asked incredulously.

Stiles walked toward me, eyes serious. "Why would you write mine?" He asked, shoving the list at me. Sure enough, right under my grandmother's name in what was definitely my handwriting was 'Stiles.'

I stared at it. What in the world…

I lingered for a moment, staring at the cassette player. A warning. I needed to give a warning. My hand reached into my bag and I wrapped around a pencil there, unfolding the paper and without looking at all wrote out the name.

"It was the tapes, wasn't it?"

I jerked my head up from the paper to see Brunski standing less than a foot away from Stiles, no longer smiling. Before either of us could react, he lunged forward with the taser in his hand and pressed it to Stiles's chest. I screamed as Stiles went down with a grunt and Brunski laughed, turning to me.

"Your turn sweetheart."

"…ia? Lydia! Lydia! Lydia!"

I groaned, stretching my stiff neck. I jerked my hands, trying to bring them up to massage it, but they were stuck on something. I tugged again, beginning panic when I realized there was something around my wrists.

My eyes flew open and at the sight of the record room I suddenly remembered what had happened before I blacked out. Oh god, it was Brunski. He was The Benefactor, and I'd realized it on an unconscious level, scrawled out a warning but it had been too late–

I looked down at my legs and saw they were cuffed together with leather and wool restrains. Tugging at my wrists again, I figured they were secured to whatever was behind my back with the same thing. I was sitting down, legs outstretched, hands bound behind my back to what I figured was a support beam. There was no one in sight, no Brunski, no Stiles–

Stiles. I had written Stiles's name. Why had I written Stiles's name? Where was he?

"Stiles?" I called out, jerking my head around to take in as much of the room as I could with my limited line of vision.

"Lydia?" His voice echoed from somewhere close behind me in relief. "Oh thank god, I assumed that was you, but I could barely see you and you weren't responding…"

I craned my neck as far as it would go to look behind me and understood what he was talking about. With both of us looking back the same way and straining as far as possible, I could just barely make out a sliver of his back and shoulders, the hair sticking up above his forehead and the barest hint of his profile. He was evidentially in the exact same situation I was, just on the other side of the foot or so thick support structure.

"How long have you been conscious?" I asked, giving an experimental tug at my bonds. God, what I wouldn't give for some werewolf strength right now.

"Just a couple minutes, I think." I heard a grunt from behind me and the sound of something clinking.

"He's going to come back isn't he?" I whispered, terrified. "Oh god, it was the tapes – he's The Benefactor, Stiles. He's the one doing all of this. I wrote your name as a warning. Because of the tapes…on some level, I knew. I knew it was Brunski."

There was silence for a long moment. "You mean as a warning for my death."

Ice rushed down my spine. "No!" I hissed, sounding angry even though I was really just terrified. "No, we don't know – that's not what it means. You're not going to die." He couldn't. I wouldn't be able to handle it, not after Allison and Aiden. I couldn't lose anyone else. Especially not Stiles.

"Are you saying that as a banshee or as an optimist?" He joked weakly.

"Both." I asserted. "You're not dying. We're getting out of here. Did he take your phone?" Mine was in my bag, which was nowhere to be seen.

"Well yeah, he's not a total idiot." Stiles jerked at his restraints, rather violently from the sound of it. "Wouldn't have done us much good, the reception down here is horrible. I was trying to send a text to Scott the whole walk over here from Brunski's office."

The mention of Scott's name filled me with hope, before I remembered he wasn't expecting to see or hear from either of us until tomorrow. My mom thought I was with friends, the Sheriff was recovering from his surgery in the hospital, and Parrish thought we were at the bonfire. Literally no one knew we were here.

"Help us!" I screamed, at a loss for what else to do. "Help us! Someone, help!"

"Lydia," Stiles interrupted, voice strained. "There's a lot of people screaming for help in a place like this. I don't think anyone's listening."

"Well, I'm open to better ideas!" I shot back. "Because if you didn't notice, all those suicides were murders!"

"That's why she left you the message." Stiles realized, catching on.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "She predicted her own death." There was the sound of a door opening and I didn't have to be a banshee to know it definitely wasn't someone coming to rescue us. "She knew I'd figure it out," I whispered quietly.

But not quietly enough, because Brunski added, "Once you were able to predict your own," from the doorway before slamming the door.

I jerked my head toward him. He was smiling down at me, holding the cassette player from his office by the handle. I started struggling with the restraints again when he advanced toward me.

"But they weren't murders." Brunski informed me. "I am not some serial killer, like Ted Bundy going around cutting up college girls," his voice dropped to a whisper as he set the cassette player down and crouched next to me, resting his hands on his thighs.

"No, you're just an Angel of Death." Stiles accused hoarsely.

Brunski's face dropped and he shifted away from me. I turned my head for a second and just barely out of the corner of my eye saw him lean close to Stiles's face. "I don't think you understand my level of commitment to my work here, Stiles." He breathed furiously. I couldn't see much of anything – all I was really doing was making my neck uncomfortable – so I faced forward and just listened. I could hear Stiles's sharp inhales as Brunski continued talking, and wished I could see what was going on. "There are people here who don't simply need 'help' – they need release. I helped them. I helped Lorraine."

There it was. Confirmation of what I'd suspected but hadn't dared voice even in my own head. Brunski had killed my grandmother and made it look like a suicide. That's what he had done to all of the people on the list.

And probably Meredith too.

"You killed her." I accused in a hard, low whisper, and I wasn't entirely sure which 'her' I was talking about. I wasn't entirely sure it mattered.

"I helped her." Brunski growled, moving back to me and coming uncomfortably close to my face. "And now you can help me," He said practically in my ear as I blinked back tears. "Because there is something about it…" I tilted my head away, desperate to get as far as possible away from his horrible, warm breath on the side of my face. "…that has always bothered me."

He held something out in front of me and tapped it with his thumb.

I looked down at it and my nostrils flared slightly. It was a tape with the words "Lorraine Martin" written on the label. I had no idea what it was, but it couldn't possibly be good.

Thankfully Brunski withdrew from me, grabbing the cassette player and moving out of sight. A couple tears escaped down my cheeks and I wished my hands were free to wipe them away. I didn't like crying in front of anyone besides the people I trusted most, and I hated crying in front of my enemies. It always seemed to happen though – Peter Hale, Jennifer Blake, The Nogitsune…stop crying, I ordered myself. Not in front of this bastard. He doesn't get to see you cry. Not after what he's done.

There was no sound in the room aside from Brunski doing something with the cassette player. Finally he must have pressed play because the familiar sound of tape whirring echoed through the records room. At first I thought there was no noise on the tape, that nothing was recorded, then I distantly heard a door shutting and the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Then a voice.

"What are you…"

My head jerked up slightly. I knew that voice. Even though I hadn't heard it in years, I would recognize it anywhere.

…far out in the ocean, where the ocean is as blue as the prettiest cornflower…

"Brunski, what are you doing?"

I knew what this was. No, I didn't. This wasn't what I thought it was. It couldn't be. It would just…there was no way this is what I thought it was. But why would Brunski have a type of my grandmother? No, no, this was just a recording of some prediction she'd made.

He said 'it.' He said there was something about 'it' that always bothered him, there was only one thing he could be talking about, one thing he would've recorded for some sick, unknown purpose.

No. It couldn't be.

…and as clear as crystal…

"Don't worry Lorraine, it's going to be alright." My mouth fell open at the sound of Brunski's sinister voice on the tape. Oh god oh god oh god this really was – "You're just going to have a little trouble breathing."

…it is very, very deep; so deep…

My eyes swam with tears. This was a recording of Brunski killing my grandmother. He was literally going to force me to listen to my grandmother die. He was going to make me listen to her stop breathing – you're just going to have a little trouble breathing – what was he doing? Was he strangling her? Injecting her? In my mind I saw my grandmother clearly, restrained just like I was, watching Brunski approach her in horror, sticking a needle in her neck.

In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.

…indeed that no cable could fathom it…

"Lydia, look at me." Stiles's voice was low but insistent. It pulled me back to reality, and I turned my head to the right, towards the sound of his voice. "Okay, don't listen to it."

In. Out. In. Out. Slower now.

More tears fell down my face, and I stretched my right hand as far back as it would go, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't reach him. He was just out of reach, just out of sight.

In. Out.

"Just focus on my voice, alright?" Stiles's voice was shaking, whether with anger, fear or despair – or all three – I didn't know. I nodded slightly even though I knew he couldn't see it. I could do that. I could focus on Stiles's voice. Upset as it was, it was familiar, a comfort. "You don't listen to it," He continued, voice rising, and I nodded my head more frantically.

In. Out. In. Out.

… many church steeples, piled one upon another…

"Block it out." Stiles ordered me. "Okay?"

In. Out….In…Out…

I pressed my head against the support beam, tears blurring my eyes like I was swimming in the ocean with my eyes wide open.

…would not reach the ground beneath the surface of the water above…

In…Out…In….Out

…there dwell the Sea king and his subjects…

Each breath was deafening, dragged out, wheezed, strangled…

….we must not imagine that there is nothing at the bottom of the sea

"Lydia?"

…but bare yellow sand

I drew in a shaky breath of my own, and it came out as a soft, muffled sob.

…no indeed; the most singular flowers and plant grow there…

…..In…Out…

…the leaves and stems of which are so pliant…

"HEY, TURN IT OFF!" I heard Stiles suddenly roar furiously at Brunski, snapping me out of my shocked, numb. There was sudden, violent movement to my left as Brunski lunged behind me toward him.

"STOP!" I screamed, jerking around in terror to see what was happening, pulling at my cuffs so tightly I nearly dislocated my wrists. I heard Brunski's fist connect a split second later with a horrifically loud thud, but the cracking noise as I heard Stiles fall on his side was nearly as loud and far scarier.

Before I could react, Brunski moved to me and grabbed my fact, jerking me back around to face forward.

"Then listen…" He hissed, digging his thumb and forefinger into my jaw. "Just. Listen." I squirmed, the grunt of exertion coming from behind me telling me that Stiles was still alive and conscious for now. But someone was going to die here – I felt it in my bones now – and I wrote Stiles's name –

Brunski squeezed my face tighter, and I tried to jerk out of his grip, unable to control the horrible, ugly tears running all over my face now. "I need your help with this, Lydia." He growled at me.

"Please don't."

"Here it is…" Brunski tightened his grip, bruising my jaw. "Listen." He hissed, lips practically touching my ear as I whimpered. "This is the part I never understood. Listen."

"Please don't hurt her…"

…that the slightest agitation of water causes them to stir…

"Don't hurt who?" Brunski asked on the tape.

There was a strangled gasp on the tape, then:

"Ariel."

…as if they had life…

Brunski released my jaw but I barely noticed.

….In….Out…Out….

A tear slid down my cheek and I let it go without protest, squeezing my eyes shut.

Then, after a long moment, I opened my eyes again, turning to Brunski with cold, dry eyes. That tear was for my grandmother, not for him. He was never getting another tear out of me again.

I stared at him, concentrating all the loathing and rage I'd ever felt into one glare. Nothing. Not Peter. Not Deucalion. Not Jennifer. Not the Nogitsune. Nothing had prepared me for this level of hatred.

My grandmother had begged for my safety with her dying breath.

She was dead and Brunski killed her.

I wanted him dead. I wanted his corpse to be rotting beneath six feet of dirt. And if I got the chance I would do it with my own hands right now. No remorse.

But since I couldn't do that at the moment I just wanted to no longer see his face.

I turned away.

Something in my reaction must have given Brunski the answer he was looking for, because I heard and felt him stand up, before hearing his footsteps move a few feet to the shelves on the wall closest to us.

"We get a lot of teenagers trying to break into our drug cabinets." Brunski said conversationally as if nothing had just happened. There was a curious sound of metal scraping on metal and I glanced briefly at him to see that he was grabbing a white box from one of the shelves. He held it out almost purposefully in front of him as he moved to sit down and I could see the Red Cross sign on it.

I put two and two together and stiffened. What was Brunski doing with a drug box?

"Most of the time they don't succeed." He admitted, setting the box on the ground and unfastening it. "But you two…" Brunski reached in and withdrew a hypodermic needle, "…look pretty clever to me." He concluded ominously, holding up a bottle of something and tapping it.

Adrenaline surged through my veins and I came fully out of my shock, yanking violently at my restraints with a cry, as I heard Stiles doing the same thing behind me. Brunski just smirked at our efforts, shaking his head slightly.

"No one will believe that!" I snarled at him. "My mom, she'll know–"

Brunski cocked his head. "Really, with all your strange behavior recently? I'm sure she's already been suspecting drugs for a long time. Especially with the kinds of troublemakers you run around with." He jerked his head toward Stiles.

"His dad's the Sheriff." I changed tracks.

"Lydia, don't–"

"–you really think you can get away with murdering the Sheriff's kid and his friend?" I demanded. "He'll come after you and then you'll pay for everything you've done."

"Stop it!" Stiles hissed at me, his restraints rattling noisily.

Brunski laughed. "Oh, don't worry. I'm not going to go after Daddy-Sheriff. Lydia here is worth a lot of money on that dead pool. If anyone suspects foul play, they'll think someone wanted the bounty on Lydia's head and Stiles got in the way like the idiot that he is. But you make a good point – I'll be sure to dump the bodies somewhere far enough away that I'm clear of suspicion."

My heart pounded like a rabbit's. This could not be happening. After everything survived, I was going to die from involuntary euthanasia in a file room at a mental hospital, killed by a non-supernatural orderly. An orderly who had just killed – no, killed six years ago – my grandmother. And made me listen to it.

Brunski stuck the needle into the bottle and I froze. I hope I'm first. The thought popped into my head, unbidden, startling me with its morbidity. It was true though. I hoped he injected me first because I couldn't do that again. I couldn't listen to someone I loved slowly stop breathing, gasping out their last words. I wanted him to inject me and allow me to die before he injected Stiles, because then at least I could go to death pretending that Scott or someone miraculously burst in to save him mere seconds after my death. Just give me that, at least. I mentally begged Brunski, but couldn't get the words to form on my lips. I wasn't going to beg him for anything.

"I'll have to admit, Stiles," Brunski said casually as he pulled back the plunger on the needle. I jerked my head and saw Stiles stiffen slightly just inside my vision. My mouth fell slightly open as I saw Brunski fixate all of his attention on him. No, no. Me first. Please. "I don't have any special talents. Like Lydia." He withdrew the needle from the bottle and slowly moved forward. Not towards me. He wasn't moving towards me. Oh god. No. No, no, I could not do this again. "But somehow, I just knew we were gonna get the chance to do this again."

I let out a small noise of protest, too shocked to react any more stronger as Brunski moved deliberately toward Stiles, needle poised and ready, thumb on the plunger. I saw Stiles trying to squirm away unsuccessfully and holy god this was real this was actually happening "No, no," I begged breathlessly without thinking, before freezing when Brunski abruptly changed directions and grabbed my jaw again, jabbing the needle at my neck.

"NO!" Stiles screamed, restraints clattering violently as Brunski dug his fingers into my jaw and braced himself.

"Drop it!" A familiar voice commanded and I rolled my eyes to the side, where Parrish was standing with his gun in hand. "Take your thumb off the needle and slowly withdraw from her neck."

"Young deputy," Brunski sneered at him, not moving at all. "You're just a kid. I bet you've never even fired a–"

Bang.

I gasped as Brunski fell down, needle clattering away with him. It took a couple seconds before it registered that Parrish was here, really here…how had he known? Had he decided to do some investigating on his own? Tried to contact us and tracked us down when he couldn't? It didn't matter at the moment, just that he was here… "He killed my grandmother," I gasped out frantically as Parrish unfastened my restraints. "He was controlling Meredith."

The second I was free, I scrambled to the other side of the beam and fumbled at Stiles's restraints, slightly impressed to discover one of them was already broken, which must have only just happened.

"He used her to create the dead pool." Stiles added, pushing himself away from the beam when I finished freeing him.

"And he killed her when he tried to help us." I finished, glaring down at Brunski vindictively, a primal part of me intensely satisfied with the sight of him lying there, bleeding out.

He wasn't dead yet, though obviously dying. He expelled a mouthful of blood in what I first thought was a cough, but then he began laughing. It was crazy, out of control laughter and all the hair at the back of my neck stood on end.

"You….you think it was me?" He asked brokenly, voice like smashed glass. "That I was controlling her?"

He laughed again, the horrible, devastating laugh of a dying man. "…idiots. She was…controlling…me."

A trickle of blood fell down the side of his face as he spoke, and then he stopped talking and breathing and existing altogether.

She was controlling me.

My grandmother?

No, my grandmother was dead.

Then…

"Oh god." My heart seized in panic and dismay. "It's not him. He's not The Benefactor."

"No," A female voice came from the doorway. I looked up to see a figure walking into the room.

Meredith. That fragile girl.

"And he wasn't on my list." She told us solemnly. "But he was a bad person."

Meredith was The Benefactor.

* * *

A/N: it ends sort of abruptly because that's how the episode ends, obviously. Please leave a review if you liked it (or if you hated it, I can take constructive criticism).

Sorry if the formatting was bad, I had to copy and paste this on my phone


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